Just about a year ago my Dad turned sixty-five,
And thought he’d go adventuring while he was still alive.
He set upon a mission where he would boldly go,
And ride the city transport as a bus-pass Romeo.
He chose the older ladies as he scoured the lonely hearts,
But realised he’d have to be a man of many parts.
Each demanded someone different with each letter that they wrote,
Expressing every fantasy to help them float their boat.
Lots of older ladies had flown the golden cage,
And dumped their inhibitions when they reached a certain age.
And so to keep them happy he told a few pork pies,
Which ment he had to court each one in a separate disguise.
One wanted Bob the Builder another Postman Pat,
And one just wanted bearskin in a Guardsman’s furry hat.
On Monday he was toy-boy in t-shirt, wig and jeans,
On Tuesday he was suited up as a businessman of means.
On Wednesday he wore posing pouch the lady wore a thong,
And he knew that it was party night when he felt her studded tongue.
Grace the curates widow while snogging in the pews,
Would lift her skirts and tease him with some very rude tattoos.
Mrs Drew from Bridgford a blue rinsed little gem,
Produced some whips and handcuffs and demanded S and M.
On Thursday he was bit of rough his date was most impressed,
When he turned up wearing fake tattoos in his mucky old string vest.
But all this dirty dancing began to take its toll,
With warden aided Wendy whose pash was rock and roll.
He’d never disappoint her but he felt a proper wuss,
In full Teddy boy regalia riding on a Barton’s bus.
But ladies he must leave you now for the hour is getting late,
You’ll find him in the Lonely Hearts ring up and make a date.
Life is made for living you too could boldly go,
Fulfilling your desires and dreams with the Bus-pass Romeo.
ABOUT MALCOLM WHYMAN
From a young age, writing was an attempt to resolve the mysteries of life. Reading other people’s work was an important part of that.
Boredom could a problem, which in my case, was offset by the library and the cinema. Leading one to contemplate that marriage was perhaps the default position in life. And so it was that, as a young man, it was through wedded bliss that I sought my salvation. I was mightily disappointed! Not least because my sexual expectations were far from fulfilled.
Two years and two attempts at a meaningful career later, my marriage was at an end. I found myself driving a crane in a London scrapyard and suffering from a debilitating depression.
Back in Nottingham and among friends, I eventually recovered and ever the optimist embarked on marriage once again, with much the same results as the first time. Only this time I was overwhelmed by a surfit of sex.
All this domestic chaos resulted in the outline of my book, ‘The Onion Peeler’. Throwing caution to the wind, I hitched down to Cornwall and a new career as a craft jeweller. But it also gave me the opportunity to complete the first draft of my Novel.
The end of the tourist season saw me broke and looking for work. An offer of a couple of weeks work at a scenery firm in Nottingham found me back home again and taken on for a couple of seasons by the scenery firm.
A contretemps with the management of the scenery firm saw me back on the cobbles again and contemplating fifteen years of work with nothing to show for it.
I barely owned the clothes I stood up in, little knowing at the time, that things were about to change for the better. Via a short stint in a junk shop, I was about to embark on a career in the antique shipping trade
Money was still tight in the seventies, mortgages were difficult, to get and bank loans even harder. Getting a wedge to start up a business was almost impossible.
Meeting Tony in the junk shop was nothing short of a miracle.
Tony had money, contacts and a car. It was said at the time, that all a buccaneering spirit needed to get into the antique shipping business, was a car, a roof rack and a tank full of petrol.
Tony had all those things and more, he was probably at that time, one of the smartest seventeen year olds in the country. From almost a standing start, within two years we were rich. Big house, fancy cars, continental holidays and expensive dinners, the usual indulgences of those with more money than sense. So It would have continued had Tony not got the creative bug.
Our nemesis was the first commercial pottery in Nottingham. Its capacity to consume money was prodigious and despite a huge injection of cash, from a legacy left to Tony by his father, it was to no avail and we went bankrupt.
We were rescued by a phenomenal rise in the price of gold and silver. So for nearly two years we became bullion dealers and made enough money to set up a shipping business in America.
The nature of our business was such that it allowed me to spend time on music and writing. Unitil now, in semi-retirement, I can concentrate on those things full time.
Feature Photo credited to http://blog.railwaymedia.co.uk/